


A World of Pure

by VenomQuill



Series: Gravity Trails [4]
Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Gen, Get a job ya hippie, Gravity Trails AU, Not shown but he probably got a haircut, legend of the white stag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-04
Updated: 2017-12-04
Packaged: 2019-02-10 15:56:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12915219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VenomQuill/pseuds/VenomQuill
Summary: Stanley sits alone in his car. Years have passed since he lost his family to one dumb mistake. He's alone and will be for just a few more months. Then... the rest is history.But what happens when someone who cares for him offers their aid?





	A World of Pure

**Author's Note:**

> Find it on dA: http://fav.me/dbvqvwp

Stanley settled down to sleep. He stared up at the roof of his car and listened to the quiet noises of the night. Birds sang their evening songs and insects buzzed or cricketed. Years had passed, and Stanley was no closer to making millions than he was to getting home. Stanley huffed. As if he’d want to go home, right? It wasn’t fair how he was thrown out. Stanley shut his eyes. No, no. He couldn’t think on this again.

Some sleep would do him good.

 

In the morning, he woke up groggy and sore. Stanley patted the seat next to him and sat up. Where was…? Oh, right. He’d eaten whatever he’d taken for dinner yesterday. He dug around just a bit more. Eventually, he gave up and sat up straight. Something white shone at the corner of his eye.

Stanley turned and shouted in surprise. “What the hell–?!” A foot away from his driver side window was the largest buck he’d ever seen. On top of that, the stag was snowy white with bright gold eyes. He could’ve sworn blue and pink flecked those big eyes of his.

Stanley looked him over. “What are you doing here?”

…

“Okay. Uh… not afraid of me?”

…

“Welp. You’re starting to creep me out.” Stanley waved his hand. “Uh, go. Go on.”

The white stag looked down at the man’s hand, and then back up at him. After a moment of consideration, he turned around and walked off.

Stanley shook himself and drove off. He was soon in town. He started up his routine again. He’d sneak small items away from shelves–snacks and change, mostly. Stanley managed to weasel some meals out of people and stores. He used change and money he was able to fish out of crevices, tip jars, and people’s wallets.

Finally, Stanley parked for the night. He ducked down to grab his meager meal of a sandwich and some water.  He reclined and ate the thing. When he looked up, the stag was _right there._ He choked and coughed as the food he’d eaten tried to get into his lungs. Eventually, he was able to dislodge the food and swallow it.

He turned to the deer. “What the hell?”

…

Stanley looked him up and down. He was still the color of the moon and, the way his fur and antlers reflected light, glowed like it, too. “Are you real?” He glanced down at his sandwich, a slight panic taking him over. “I’m not drugged am I?”

…

Stanley glanced at the unmoving animal. “Yeah, still freaking me out. Shoo.” He waved his hand at the deer.

…

“Uh…” Stanley ducked into his car and looked around. Maybe he could scare it off. But what did he have here… ah-hah! A can! He brought out the empty can, rolled down his window, and chucked it at the creature. The deer dodged the meager attack.

The deer looked back at the can, and then at Stanley. His ears flicked back as if genuinely annoyed rather than spooked.

“Oh, you didn’t like that? Then move.” Stanley rolled up his window and went back to his sandwich. Even if it was laced with something, he’d already gone through half of it. May as well finish it off.

The stag stamped his hoof next to the can. The noise easily caught Stanley’s attention. Annoyed, he swallowed the last of his food and revved his engine. “Go on! Seriously, you’re freaking me out.”

The stag took a step back. For the slightest moment, Stanley was relieved. Finally, that thing was leaving! Then, the deer lowered his head, hooked Stanley’s car in his antlers, and pushed up with extraordinary strength.

Stanley yelled and swore as he struggled to grab onto his car to keep from being flipped over. “Okay, okay!” he shouted as the car was nearly on its side. “Sorry for littering! Put me down! Uh, please!”

The stag gently lowered the car back onto its wheels and stepped back. He raised his head and looked down at Stanley. He raised a hoof and tapped the ground next to the can.

 _This is insane._ Stanley, eyes wide as moons, looked at the can and then the deer. Slowly, he opened the door. The white stag backed off a couple of hoof steps. Stanley reached down, grabbed the can, and then retreated back into his car. The white stag flicked his ear, turned around, and then walked off.

Stanley drove to another location to sleep.

 

That morning, the stag stood by the side window again. This time, Stanley didn’t jump as hard upon seeing him. “What’s your deal, anyway? Are you some sort of nature thing?”

…

“You, like, against littering? I wasn’t littering! A few days ago, at least!”

…

Stanley’s look of indignance and irritation flattened. “So, you’re gunna keep bothering me, right?”

…

“I thought so.” Stanley sighed. He turned on the car. A smile played on his lips. “Good luck catchin’ up, Moony.” With that, the car rolled onto the road and sped off with a laugh. Catch up to this, deer!

Eventually, Stanley slowed in the next town. A few hours into the day, a man waved Stanley down as he walked. Stanley stopped walking and approached the man.

“Hey.” The man was a bit ragged like Stanley. His clothes were ruffled. However, unlike Stanley, he wasn’t as big, but was more well fed. “Andrew, yes?”

Stanley put down his paranoia. “What’s it to you?”

The man looked at him. He glanced back. A nervousness washed over the man’s features, though he tried to hide it. “Look, I’ve heard a lot of things about you. You’re good at a lot of things. I have some… friends, I guess. Next job’s coming up.” His eyes raised so that he looked Stanley in the eyes rather than the environment around them or Stanley’s shirt collar. “Thing is, I’m not too good. But you are.”

There was absolutely nothing trustworthy about this man. Still, he looked like he got a regular supply of food and money that probably went to shampoo and shoes. Stanley thought over this for a moment. “What do you expect me to do?”

The man was in the smuggling business–rather, had been hired. He was much better at pick-pocketing and petty theft, but he had a brother in the smuggling business and some friends higher up. Stanley could take care of himself. Even if this weasel was leading him into a trap, Stanley could get away. He’d done it before.

The man left almost straight after Stanley had agreed. His footsteps were a bit quick. Not the best at being nonchalant, that was for certain. Still, Stanley needn’t worry too much about it. After all, he was leaving town in a few hours, anyway. So, he gathered up enough to get some food and, once he’d eaten, headed out.

When he stopped on the side of the road, the deer was back. Stanley ignored him. Though the stag didn’t go away, he didn’t bother Stanley and Stanley likewise. Eventually, Stanley settled down for sleep. He didn’t get a good night’s sleep, but that was expected. Even after all these years, his car wasn’t the most comfortable bed.

 

When dawn broke, Stanley was awake. He gave the stag, who had been sleeping next to him on the road, a “hello” before driving off. Stanley didn’t get in too much trouble that day, which was great. He was still stealing for food, but that would end soon enough. At least, for a while.

As the day wound to a close, Stanley’s car ran out of town and in the direction of their meeting place. The white stag bounded into the trees ahead of the car and then walked into the road. He turned to look at Stanley as the man’s car raced toward him. The car screeched as Stanley stomped on the brakes and jerked the car to the side in order to avoid hitting him. Since the white stag took up quite a bit of room on the road, Stanley’s car was forced to stop on the side of the road.

Stanley, after taking a moment to let his fear freeze him in his spot, got out. “Hey! What’s the big idea?! You almost killed me!”

The white stag walked to the forest and looked back at him, ears flicked forward and tail up.

“Yeah, I’m talking to you! Ugh! I threw away that stupid can, okay? Now would you leave me alone?” Stanley snapped, his fear turning into anger. He got back into his car.

The white stag bounded to the car and hopped about it. Stanley’s car jerked as he stomped on the brakes again. If Stanley tried backing up, he’d only meet the stag. If he tried going forward, he’d just run into the stag. With a defeated sigh, Stanley shut off the car and got back out again. The stag stopped by the tree line and watched Stanley. “Do you want me to follow you?”

The white stag lowered his head and bleated.

“Too bad. I’ve got places to be.” Stanley quickly hopped into his car and started off.

The white stag didn’t move. Instead, he raised his head and watched as the car skidded and stopped.

Stanley looked at his dashboard. A light blinked at him. One of his front tires had been slashed by the white stag’s hoof. “You slashed my tire?!”

The white stag threw his head back and stamped his hooves.

“You’re laughing at me, aren’t you?”

The white stag bleated and snorted.

Anger, this time a bit hotter, flared inside of him. “Oh, that’s it.” Stanley grabbed a knife from his car and, not bothering to shut the door, ran after the deer. When the white stag bounded off, he yelled, “Yeah, you better run!” Stanley stopped by the tree line and put his knife away. “Don’t come back, y’hear?”

The white stag was nowhere in sight. Still, Stanley took a few moments to look for it in case it tried to come back.

He heard a slight shuffle come from his car.

Stanley spun around. The deer had stuck his head in Stanley’s car. “HEY!” Stanley rushed back to the deer.

The white stag backed out and stared at Stanley.

“Get out of here you–wait.” Stanley’s eyes grew round as he recognized the picture the stag had taken out of his car. “Hey, that’s mine!”

The white stag fled. No! Anything but that! That was the last thing he had of his brother’s! The last happy thing, anyway.

The white stag, now being chased, hopped into the forest. He was quick on his hooves, staying just out of reach of Stanley.

Eventually, the stag put on a burst of speed so that he was so far ahead of Stanley the man almost lost him. Then, the white stag slowed to a stop and knelt. Stanley burst into the clearing just as the white stag set the picture on top of a rotten wooden bench. The deer backed off. Stanley didn’t bother chasing after him. Instead, he swooped down to grab the picture. Then, he noticed the notebook that it had been set down upon. It was old and grayish with yellowed, lined paper. A very familiar name was scrawled over the front.

Stanley picked it up and looked it over. Notes, drawings, and equations scribbled in the ancient thing. Side-notes, bullet points, dates… most of all, a few names scribbled inside of it at random intervals. Those names… some were of long forgotten teachers, but two stood out the most. _Stanley and Stanford._

Eventually, Stanley looked up. The stag stared straight back at him. “You… where did you find this?” He tried to smother the hope that sparked within him, but it was hard. Of course his brother would send some type of magical creature to find him! “Did… this is Stanford’s. Do you know Ford?”

The stag dipped his head.

Stanley’s face lit up. “So, you do know him! Do you know where he went?”

…

Stanley’s expression fell a bit. _Oh._ “Okay, but, you do know him, right?”

The stag nodded.

Stanley sighed. “Good! …did he give this to you?”

…

“No? Then who did?”

…

“Not talking, huh?” Stanley looked down at the notebook. Well, even if Stanford hadn’t sent it to him, someone who knew them and who knew their legends did it. “I better get back to my car. I just got a good gig. You, uh… you’re not going to break my car anymore, are you?”

The white stag lay down.

“Yeah, cool.” Stanley, his grip on the notebook and picture possessive, walked back in the direction in which he came.

The white stag got up and followed.

When Stanley got back to his car, he put the picture back in its rightful place and the notebook in his dashboard. He about started the car, but realized that his tire was still slashed. He sighed. “You know, Moon-butt, I need this car to go places. We’re in the middle of nowhere.”

The white stag lowered his head.

“You wanna help me go get a tire or something?” Stanley glanced at him.

The white stag straightened up and bounded off into the woods. Stanley started to follow, but swore as he lost sight of him and walked back to his car. “Thanks a lot, Moon-butt! If I get eaten by a wild animal, I’m pinning this on you!”

The fuming man grabbed his things and walked to town.

By the time night had fallen, Stanley had changed his tire and was ready to go. Before he got to the meeting place, the white stag hopped ahead of him again. Stanley stopped immediately. He started to complain. Then, he saw what the white stag saw–great plumes of smoke.

Police cars flanked old cars and trucks as well as the occasional ambulance and fire truck. Flames licked up the sides of the building and smoldered in isolated cars. Water hissed from the fire trucks. Smoke billowed out of the building. Fireman brought out burn and smoke victims–some alive but some dying on the way–for the ambulances.

The white stag turned around and stared at Stanley. The man didn’t speak. He backed his car up and drove away. The stag followed.

Once out of town, the man shut off his car and lay back. When the white stag started to move away, he called, “Hey?”

The white stag turned and stared at him.

“Thanks, Moony. You, uh…” Stanley looked up at the ceiling of his car. “You saved my skin back there. Sorry for calling you annoying.”

The stag turned around completely and lay down next to the driver’s side door. He lay his head down and shut his eyes.

Stanley shut his eyes and went to sleep.

 

The next morning, when Stanley woke up, the stag wasn’t there.

Taking a deep breath, Stanley sat up and started down the road again. His thoughts fell on the stag. So, the deer rescued him from being killed, gave him something that his brother had owned as a child, but nearly flipped his car for throwing a can at him? The deer didn’t like littering, that was obvious. Why would he follow Stanley, though? Why would he _rescue_ Stanley? He was a criminal. Certainly, some pure-hearted person needed help more than him.

Eventually, he spotted a light shape standing in the grass flanking the road. Stanley immediately stopped. Stanley popped his head out. “Hey! Where’d you go, Moony?”

The white stag shook his head, turned, and approached the car.

Stanley smirked. “So, got any news?”

…

“Yeah, not the talkin’ type today, eh?” Stanley tapped the driver’s wheel. “So, I know you don’t like littering so you probably don’t like stealing, _but_ I kinda think you can forgive me for that, right?” He smiled.

The white stag twitched an ear.

Stanley’s smile left him. “Yeah, pretty much. Well, I don’t have anything to eat! You have grass and leaves and stuff _everywhere!_ I don’t!”

…

Stanley looked him up and down. “You don’t happen to know where I could get something to eat, do you?”

…

“Uh… please?” Stanley tried.

The white stag turned around and looked down. He stamped the gravelly line between asphalt and grass. Then, the white stag stood up straight and walked into the woods. Stanley parked his car completely and followed.

Eventually, the white stag haulted, causing Stanley to stop, too. A few yards ahead, curled up into himself, was a young boy. Ten, looking like he was almost eleven. He wore a red backpack heavy with things.

Stanley’s expectant smile had long been lost as he, too, had heard the sniffling. Stanley glanced at the stag. “I’m not taking food from a kid, Moony.”

The white stag bowed his head and took a step back.

“I’m not-” he started and then cut himself off.

The boy stared in their direction, now. “Wh-who’s there?”

The white stag watched Stanley.

Stanley took a deep breath and walked toward the boy. He put on a small smile. He looked bad enough as it was. A smile made him look a bit better, at least. The white stag followed by his side. “The name’s Stanley. Friend here is Moony. What’s your name?”

“I-I’m T-Taylor.” The boy hesitated as he looked over the deer. “Are you magic?”

Stanley chuckled, hands in his pockets. “Well, I’m not. But my buddy here is. What are you doing all the way out here, Taylor?”

Taylor rubbed his eyes with the already damp sleeve of his shirt. “O-oh. Nothing. I just… um… got lost? I guess.”

“Got lost with a big backpack.” Stanley nodded toward the vibrant red thing Taylor had.

“Oh, yeah. Yeah, I, uh, was going camping.” Taylor looked away. Stanley didn’t quite buy it. “I got lost. I-I thought I saw like a monster or somethin’.” He perked up and turned to them. “Do you know how to get home?”

Stanley shrugged. _No, but that deer probably did._ “Well… yeah, I guess.”

Taylor hopped to his feet, a grand smile on his face, now. “You’ll take me there? My parents are probably at the campsite, but I don’t know how to get back. But you’ll take me there?”

“Uh, sure.” Stanley looked at the white stag. “Forge ahead, Moony?”

The white stag twitched his ear. He lowered his head and looked to the ground. A few heartbeats passed as the deer just stared at the ground. Stanley couldn’t help but get a little nervous.

Finally, the deer raised his head and walked. Stanley and Taylor immediately followed.

Seconds later, they were near a campsite. The white stag stopped just out of sight.

Stanley stopped, too. “You coming with?”

The white stag lay down.

“Alright. Come on. Let’s see if you’re parents are here.” Stanley walked off. Taylor held onto Stanley’s shirt and followed.

The mother squealed and brought her son in her arms. The father turned to Stanley and thanked him profusely. Despite Stanley’s ragged appearance, neither parent looked at him in suspicion. All they held was gratitude toward him and relief and love for their child. Soon, the mother waved her hand to their RV, where she pulled out the supplies for a rather large dinner. Stanley had a real dinner that evening with laughter and stories and marshmallows to roast. He didn’t have many good stories of late, but the kid wasn’t deterred. So, Stanley fell back on telling some of his adventures on the beach, albeit spiced up a bit with skeleton pirates or ghosts or sea monsters.

Once the boy went to bed, the father pulled Stanley aside. “Say, you don’t look so good.” The man hesitated. “Where do you happen to work?”

Stanley thought for a moment. He started to fall back on a lie, but stopped himself. “I, uh, had worked as a traveling salesman. But the, uh, business turned out to be…”

The father nodded, understanding in his deep green eyes. “I understand. Say, I’m a traveling salesman, too.” The father smiled. “My wife and I go around in that RV there around the country most of the year. But, uh, Taylor over there stays with his aunt in Alabama for school. Anyway, I was just wondering…” The father fished something out of his pocket and presented it to Stanley. Stanley took it. The card was plain and simple with some streaks of gray and a few lines of names and numbers. “I _was_ looking for an assistant, but I could also look for a partner. Nothing big or anything, just a little boost to help you on your feet.”

For a moment, Stanley was stunned. He quickly shook it off. “Well, uh… I don’t have anything to sell, really,” Stanley admitted.

The father smiled. “We’ll loan you some of our stock. You’re good at selling vacuums, right? Heh. Well, we can loan you a few and point you to some good spots to sell things. Honestly, you’ve already paid us back.” He nodded his head toward the RV. “Can’t thank you enough for Taylor. Boy gets on some wacky adventures when we aren’t looking. Always looking for ghosts and goblins…” The man’s smile faltered a bit. He shook it off and grinned again. “What do you say? Stick around for a few months, keep in touch?”

Stanley couldn’t disagree.

That night, Stanley had a place to sleep and spare clothes in the morning and that business card to look over before he slept and after he woke up. For the first time in a very long time, Stanley wasn’t dirty and clinging to old clothes. He didn’t wake up starving or walk away hungry. After a few more thanks and some goodbyes, a bit of pleading from the boy for him to stay and a promise to visit some time, Stanley left. Eventually, Stanley returned to the stag, who stood up and walked back to the red car.

“So, are you some sort of guardian angel?” Stanley prompted as they walked. He looked down at a card he was given. “Because, you act like it.”

The white stag shook his head.

“Weird. So, you’re a _mystical spirit_ , right?”

…

Stanley grinned. “I don’t hear a no! Awesome. So, you visit anyone else lately?”

…

Stanley fake-pouted. “Aw, no answer? Ah well. Hey, looka this!” Stanley held up the card. “Business card! Fancy, eh?”

The white stag twitched an ear.

“I told them about my past as a traveling salesman. That guy was a traveling salesman, too!” Stanley grinned. “I could take up the business again, try selling something that works. His things work. I could make something of myself.”

The stag watched Stanley as they walked, ears flicked forward as if actually interested in what he had to say.

“Did I ever tell you why I went into sales?” Stanley prompted. They’d reached his car.

The white stag shook his head.

“Cool!” Stanley sat down in the driver’s seat of his scar, but didn’t turn on the vehicle or shut the door. “So, I wanted to go into the treasure hunting business. Turns out that gold is some sort of _rare metal_ , though.”

 

Stanley bought a celebratory dinner that night before looking for a motel. He had taken the money out of his emergency supply.

 

The next day, Stanley washed up and grabbed breakfast from the store closest. Stanley was by his car, his duffle bag over his shoulders. He’d gotten cleaned up a bit. He was ready to dominate his work. He was his own boss, if an informal partner of Taylor’s father.

Once night fell completely, Stanley left his car to go to a real bed in his room. He’d gotten inside and set his stuff down on his bed when he saw a familiar white shape outside.

Stanley turned around and grinned. “Hey, Moony! Guess what!” Stanley opened the door and stepped into the warm evening air. The white stag backed off a pace. “I’ve been thinking all day and practicing this new pitch I got. It’ll _floor_ these suckers! Er–customers!”

The white stag stamped one of his hooves, tail flicked up. This wasn’t anger, no. No, Stanley saw something else in those big eyes of his–a joy to match Stanley’s own.

Stanley laughed and stomped on the cement outside his door.

The white stag stamped both hooves. He lowered his head, bumped Stanley in the chest, and bounced away. Tail flicked up and eyes concentrating on Stanley, he waited. Stanley ran after him. “Hey, you know how long it took me to fold this shirt? Two seconds because I didn’t!”

The white stag bounded around the parking lot like a fawn. Stanley reached out to grab him. He missed by a mere inch. The white stag turned on a dime and bounded off in a large circle. He’d never gotten close to catching the deer. Earlier that day, he’d learned why–this deer was probably the white stag of legend. The white stag led people to great places, but he’d never been caught. “I know you think you can’t be caught, but I’ll catch you! Mark my words, Stanley Pines will catch the white stag!”

The white stag bleated and kicked a can. The bent piece of trash hit Stanley in the arm. “Ow! Uh, really? What was that for?” Stanley held up the can. The white stag froze. He watched the can.

Stanley grinned and dropped it. The can hit the asphalt. The white stag lowered his antlers and charged Stanley. The man dove to the side and lashed out. But the white stag was no longer there. He’d changed course before reaching the spot Stanley had been in. He kicked the can again, this time sending it soaring. It whizzed past Stanley’s head and hit the brick of the motel behind them.

Stanley looked back at the building and then the deer. “You’re trying to kill me!”

The white stag bleated and stamped the ground.

Stanley was unsuccessful in catching him that night. So, tired, he went to bed. The white stag watched him go. The white stag stayed outside and watched him as he went to bed. Stanley didn’t mind, though. If the stag was a person, he’d definitely be creeped out. But he was a magical deer, so it wasn’t _as_ creepy.

The white stag watched as Stanley went to bed. He hadn’t bothered to close the curtains.

 

That morning, the stag wasn’t there. He wasn’t there that afternoon, when Stanley started collaborating with his new sort-of partner. Nor was the stag there in the evening when Stanley got his camera and finished preparing for the next day. He wasn’t there at dinner. When he finally did see him, it was time for bed. The stag stayed outside of his window, asleep. Stanley fell asleep, too.

As the days passed, the white stag visited him less and less. Stanley advertised and sold vacuums. On occasion, he’d meet up with his new partner and they’d have dinner and talk about recent events. Taylor had recently tried to catch a fairy that had appeared just after breakfast was over. He ended up catching a frog instead. To Taylor’s dismay, they couldn’t bring the frog with them. Taylor still had a very vivid description of it, which changed each time he was asked.

Sixteen days had passed since the white stag stopped visiting him as often. Stanley was getting semi-successful with a handful of people calling him throughout the day. He didn’t have nearly the following he did in New Jersey, but he could afford meals, soap, and clothes.

Something plucked at Stanley through the days, though. Every tale Taylor told and each visit from the deer had made him think on it more and more. It made him think of his twin and the heartbreak of leaving him. Though he wasn’t nearly as downtrodden these days as he was a month prior, they still weighed on him.

One day, the stag stopped visiting him altogether. Near the same time, Taylor’s family drove off to their new destination a few states over in Colorado. Stanley still contacted them now and again over business, but those calls were getting less frequent. After all, their partnership wasn’t a lifetime thing. Now that Stanley had gotten a better hotel room, fixed up the broken pieces of his ancient car, and was saving up for a house, Taylor’s father thought that he was getting better. Since they needed to keep moving, anyway, now was better than never to let their partnership dwindle. It got to the point where he was reaching Stanley end of his vacuum supply. Still, he wasn’t giving up and falling back to homelessness.

Then, as he was inside a building filling out paperwork for the ability to continue running commercials, he saw him. The white stag was in the room with him. It took him a little while, mostly because he was concentrated on the paperwork but somewhat because he didn’t think to see the stag inside of the room. But when he did finally see the white figure next to him, he looked up and jumped. Then, he laughed, joy returning. “Moony! Don’t scare me like that!”

The white stag snorted and lowered his head.

Stanley shrugged and leaned back in his chair. “So, you’ve found yourself a new friend, eh? Like spending time with them more than me? I’m guessing it’s because I got a job. You’re into the jobless type.”

The white stag snorted.

“So, save anyone from being fire kindle?”

The stag lay down and flicked his ears forward.

“Ooh! You have! Too bad deer can’t talk. Not even magic ones.” Stanley shrugged and smirked. “Good thing I can. Since you’ve been gone so long I guess I’ll just have to bore you with what happened.”

As he told him about the last few days, the stag listened with complete attention. Stanley even tried being boring, but the stag wasn’t bored at all. So, he tried slipping in hints of him going back to taking from tip jars. This annoyed the stag but, as he quickly found out Stanley was just playing with him, he lost his annoyance.

Eventually, Stanley had to leave. He picked up dinner on his way back to his room. The stag waited outside of his room. Just like he had a few weeks ago, the stag lay down and fell asleep just as Stanley did.

 

After that, the stag returned to rarely seeing him. Some days, he wasn’t there at all. Some days, he visited in the evening or at breakfast. Still, just the stag being there was encouraging. It helped that Stanley was almost out of stock and was searching for something new. Having the hope of the white stag nearby kept him from becoming scared or frustrated.

Then, just as Stanley sold his last vacuum earlier than he expected and parked on the side of the road to re-plan his next few days, he saw him.

The stag watched him from the trees.

Stanley perked up. “Moony, buddy!” Stanley rolled down his window and leaned out the side. “You’re here early.”

The stag huffed and turned around so that he faced the road ahead. He looked back.

“Leavin’?”

The stag walked forward a few paces and then stopped and looked back.

“Want me to follow?” Stanley started to get out of his car, but the white stag stamped his front hooves on the pavement. Stanley got back in and shut the door. The stag calmed down and walked forward a few more paces.

“Moony, if this is some sort of spiritual trip that ends in me being converted to someone else’s religion, I’m not going to forgive you.” Regardless, he pulled the car forward at a crawl. Moony’s ears flicked forward. He bounded ahead. Stanley forced his car to go faster and faster to avoid losing sight of the deer. He glanced at his speed-o-meter. He was going way over the speed limit. Welp. Good day as any to die in a violent car crash chasing something that was probably a figment of his imagination.

Eighty-three…

The stag glanced back at Stanley.

Eighty-four…

Stanley tapped the horn on his car.

Eighty-five…

The stag shook his head in disapproval.

Eighty-six…

Stanley chanced a look around him. The road was relatively curved.

Eighty-seven…

Stanley took turns as if he wasn’t barreling down the road at a speed that could kill him instantaneously if he hit something.

Eighty-eight…

The stag threw his head back and started to slow. The trees around them turned into buildings. The road evened out and turned black flanked by silver.

Stanley yelped and slowed the car. Unfortunately, he was still bearing down on the completely unafraid stag. He slammed his feet on the brakes.

_SCREEEEEEEEEEECH!_

Stanley’s car veered off the road. It shuttered and bounced as the wheels hit the sidewalk. The front bumper hit a fence. The wooden fence bent and splintered, but as the car had lost significant speed and momentum, didn’t break. Shocked, Stanley gripped his wheel with quite a bit of strength. The stag turned around to face him.

Stanley glared at him and attempted to open his door. It could only open an inch or so before hitting the fence. So, he slid out the passenger side. “What the hell?! You could’ve killed me, Moon-butt!”

The stag threw his head back and then looked at the window. There were two people there. He looked back at Stanley and then hesitated. He slowly scored the ground three times.

“Moony?”

The stag raised his head and tail high, and walked off. He dissipated into mist.

Stanley ran forward. “Whoa, wait! Wait! Where’d you–what? What happened?” he looked around. “Where am I? Moony?”

The door to the house whose yard he almost invaded opened. A man just about his height but probably half his weight walked out. His bright blue eyes concentrated on Stanley. Though the man didn’t look mad, Stanley jumped and put his hands up anyway and grinned. “Hey, friend! I’m sorry about the fence, uh…” His voice trailed off as he looked at the man behind him. “Sixer?”

**Author's Note:**

> Moony, Moon-butt, hey! Better than Whitey! Haha Stanley's always been better at nick-names. I considered "Pirate" and "Captain White-rack" but they weren't as good.
> 
> Also, I had Taylor's scene in my head for a long time. When I decided to write Stanley's part, Taylor's scene, the rigged job scene, and Stanley almost hitting the White Stag before being found by Fiddleford scene were in my head.
> 
>  
> 
> ~~Yes, I know how ironic this section of the song is for Stanley's title~~
> 
>  
> 
> Part 3 of 4.


End file.
